In a world torn between heroes and villains, it can be a dangerous and hostile place. Some take comfort in the Gifted that stand up against those who would use their powers for greed and chaos. While others choose to hide away, fearful of the day...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
He dreamed of a face.
He only caught glimpses.
When wandering through an endless desert, with shifting sands swirling around him like tidal waves crashing upon the shore, he'd see her dark hair floating on the stormy winds, her black eyes hiding behind the veil of sand.
When running down endless halls, climbing up to doors upon the ceiling, and slipping through windows into new worlds, he'd see her lips, full and sweet, calling him to turn the next corner, beckoning him to catch her.
When he stood upon a teetering tower, stacked high with the bodies of the fallen, their cries scratching against his ears so he couldn't even hear himself scream, her gentle face appeared through the haze. A slight smirk quirked her cheeks, her eyes challenging him, as if to ask, "you aren't giving up, are you?"
A beacon in the storm and a lighthouse upon the sheer cliffs. She dragged him along with a teasing smile and a promise upon her lips. He followed her everywhere, no matter how intense the pain or how dark the way, yet he never caught her. He wasn't sure he ever would, but still he persisted. So it continued until, finally, he stepped into the light.
He groaned, his eyes burning from the severity of the bright rays. He raised his hand to block the source of the light, but only managed an inch of movement before feeling the sharp pang of bad decisions.
"Fuck," he growled, dropping his arm back down. He hissed beneath the searing light, gritting his teeth against the burning strain of his triceps.
"Good morning, Cat. What will it be now? Another piss run, or are we going to argue about the finer points of tomato cultivation?"
"What?" he responded, the word a raspy scratch against his dry throat. "Who is this? Where am I?"
"Ooh, we've never gotten this far before. Let's see, I'm the princess of Uzbekistan and you are at my summer home in Germany."
"Who is this?" he asked again, trying his best to convey all of his anger and none of the fear that was coursing through him. Why couldn't he raise his arm? Was he bound? Who would have kidnapped him? And was he being held as billionaire Dominic Cramer or as the vigilante Catalyst? "No more games. Uzbekistan is a presidential constitutional republic, and it is fall in the Northern Hemisphere right now, not summer."
"Dude, you've been out for so long, how do you know it's not summer right now?"
He paused, panic sealing his throat. He needed a quick response. Hesitation would show weakness and he needed his captor uncertain of what power they held over him.
"Enough, show yourself, coward!"
"You are feisty this morning," grumbled the voice, though he caught a hint of humor ringing through. "I'm right in front of you, Cat. You'd think you'd recognize your gracious host considering you've been surfing my couch for the past day or so."
